


like the stars, ignite

by asterisms



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Forgiveness, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:57:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterisms
Summary: "Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in youThe love of all man’s days both past and forever:Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –And the songs of every poet past and forever."-Rabindranath TagoreAnakin, before the end.





	like the stars, ignite

He is the desert heat.

He is scorched earth and sun kissed skin, with hands ever reaching for something he cannot hope to touch. He is the slave-child and the hero with no fear. He is his mother’s son, and each step he takes is another lick of flame against his soul, searing away the rage and the pain until there is nothing left.

He is a gaping wound, and he bleeds and he cannot heal.

With a heart like the twin suns of his childhood, he burns.

 

The rain comes, as it always does.

The sand at his feet becomes an ocean that stretches far beyond what he can see. He bares himself to the downfall, and as the coarse sand is washed away, he allows himself to breathe again. The heat fades, but he is not cold. It cannot last forever. He knows this. He thinks he has always known, but he will take whatever respite he is offered until he is faced with the fire again.

 

He knows that if he looks back, he will see the desert that has become his penance, but he wants to stay, if only for a moment longer. He knows he does not deserve the peace the rain brings, yet as he feels the wind brush softly across his face, he longs to be clean again.

Fear and shame guard his footsteps. They are a part of him, as constant and unrelenting as the flames that wait for his return. Once upon a time, he had hope that could chase them away, but he has long since resigned himself to the hollow truth: he will never be rid of their weight. They have been with him since before he fell, perhaps they have always been with him. He isn’t entirely sure what he would be without them.

And yet…

And yet the water laps at his feet, gentle as it sings sweetly of the depths below.

 

The desert waits at his back.

He should return.

He must return.

 

He takes one step, then another. He forces his limbs to move and with each step, something within him falls away.

The water reaches up to his knees now, and the wind is screaming. He cries out when the rain that was once kind begins to strike like shattered glass against his skin, but he does not stop. As harsh as they fall, the drops taste sweet on his tongue, and he spreads his arms wide.

If this is the price he must pay to move forward, he will pay it gladly.

 

He dives beneath the churning waves, and the peace that grabs hold of him is one that he thought he would never feel again. A weight he cannot remember carrying is stripped away, and he gladly lets it go.

The fear cannot reach him here.

The shame is carried away by the same current that drags him deeper into the water’s embrace.

 

He loses himself in the warmth that surrounds him. He aches, but it is a new pain, a good pain, like the stretch of a healing scar or the dull burn of tired muscles running under the sun.

With it comes _joy_.

The light of a single, pale sun, dancing across waterfalls and slipping through emerald leaves. Laughter that spins smiles into painted glass and sugar into a sweetness that melts on his tongue. Gentle hands in his hair. Hands that soothe away his scrapes and carry him when he cannot find the strength to carry himself. His mother’s voice, singing a song he never quite managed to forget. The stars that shine forever down upon him, bringing comfort even in the icy grip of space.

And _grief_.

The unforgiving eyes of the council that holds his fate in their hands. Fear that never truly fades, no matter how he tries, and jealousy that is not his own and hate that is. The arc of a blade that burns red like the lava rivers of Mustafar. His arm severed and beyond his reach. A child seeking comfort, innocent but sentenced anyway. Love that gave him everything, and love that was lost. His son, broken before him but not dead. Not yet.

He remembers.

Everything.

Every emotion and every thought, unveiled and dragged into the light. He bears witness to the truth and as he weeps for everything that could have been and everything that was, he is reborn. The years strip themselves from his form. And yet, at the core of him, where the pain is still fresh no matter how he is forgiven, he fears he will burn again.

But the water is warm, and the light is kind.

And he is safe.

 

Anakin Skywalker opens his eyes, and he knows this will be the last time.

His son stands just beyond the edge of the celebrating crowd. When the Force calls him forward, he is unsure of his welcome, but the surprised delight on his son’s face is more than enough to soothe his worry. He has nothing to fear, for he is no longer the broken, gasping creature that once held the shattered remnants of his soul. In the waters of the Force, he was remade, restored to what he once was. Luminous and whole again.

He smiles, shy but not ashamed, and looks down.

His daughter comes to fetch his son, and he watches them go, something heavy and warm settling deep within his chest. Tears gather in his eyes, but they do not fall. In the flickering glow of the bonfires, the living celebrate the fall of the Empire and sing for their future in the light. His death is among the things they cheer for, and as he wraps the familiar, heavy robe further around his form, he is glad.

 

“Anakin.”

His heart aches when he hears the sound, and he fights against the tears that once more threaten to fall. He is not ready to face them, but then, when has he ever truly been ready for anything? He turns his gaze to the Jedi beside him. Yoda acknowledges his presence with a nod before fading away, leaving him to face Obi-Wan alone.

“Obi-Wan,” he says, the name like a prayer from his lips. His voice shakes but he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. “I-” He pauses to take a shuddering breath he no longer needs, “I’m sorry. I know I do not deserve-” His voice breaks, and he cannot go on. He feels like a child again, lost and desperate for someone to tell him everything will be alright.

“Oh, Anakin.” He feels a hand rest upon his cheek. “Look at me, please.”

There is nothing left in him that could resist. He turns to meet the man’s gaze.

“I do not care about what you _deserve_ ,” Obi-Wan says. He pulls Anakin forward, guiding him to press their foreheads together. “I forgive you.”

And truly, nothing more needs to be said.

He lets himself fall into Obi-Wan’s embrace, and his teacher clutches at him with all the strength he has left, as if attempting to imprint himself upon Anakin’s soul. In the warmth of Obi-Wan’s presence, he feels himself break open, and the Force sings between them. It pulls at the edges of his being, and he goes where it leads as the water rushes over his head, ready to be remade again.

The last thing he sees before he fades is the brilliant smile on Obi-Wan’s face, shining with tears and something like love.

 

Anakin Skywalker is finished, but he knows they have only just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work that's been sitting in my drafts folder for a couple years now, so I've decided to post it since I don't think I'll do anything more with it.
> 
> thanks for reading. find me on [tumblr](http://asterismsinyoureyes.tumblr.com)


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